Failing
by Lor-tan
Summary: Jack's memory is failing, and he just can't seem to remember who this man with golden eyes and black sand is.
1. Forgetting

Sometimes... sometimes it is far too easy to forget.

It's the little things at first. What day it is. What dream Sandy sent me last night.

Then the things get bigger. What day is Easter, again? Where am I supposed to be spreading winter at the moment?

Then one day North was over, and he kept mentioning someone named Jamie. And I just nodded like I knew what he was talking about.

North doesn't come over as often anymore. Neither does Sandy or Tooth. I keep getting the feeling that there was another, that I had another friend, but I can't recall his name... it's a miracle I can remember- who was I talking about, again? I can't remember.

"Huh. Must've been unimportant, then."

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, they say." Someone drawls beside me, and I look over to see a man with sallow skin, swept back black hair, and the hugest golden eyes I've ever seen. He's decked out in black and leaning against the wall I'm working on, all nonchalant, but watching me with those big gold eyes so intently that I get the inexplicable feeling that I'm prey, and tighten my grip on my staff.

How strange.

I wonder if he's actually looking at me, though. A bizarre amount of people seem unable to see me, though I don't remember why. They just seem to look right through me. Maybe this man's just staring in my general direction, and his words were actually directed towards himself. Maybe he thinks himself insane.

I wonder what it's like to be insane.

"Excuse me, but do I know you?" I ask. Best to check these things, whether or not he can see me. If yes, then great, a new friend. I can't wait to intoduce him to the old ones, whatever their names were. (Sandy, I remember Sandy. Teeth?)

And if not, then I won't trouble myself. I'll just continue creating more frost on the wall. I know that's what I was doing; I can remember that.

The man's eyes widen further, if that's even possible, before returning to their normal wide, and an equally wide smirk stretches his thin ashen lips.

I want to frost them, kinda. And then touch them. And then slap him. I'm not sure why.

But I want to hurt him and get away from him.

I squish that feeling down.

"No. No I don't believe you do." He murmurs, looking at me like I'm his food.

I certainly hope he isn't going to eat me. That would just be dreadful, though I'm not sure why. I don't remember why. Yet I can feel it, in my belly of all places, that being eaten would not be pleasant at all.

"Oh." I answer, before offering my free hand, the one not holding my cane, for him to shake.

"I'm Jack Frost. Nice to meet you."

He smirks wider as he takes my hand, and stares me right in the eyes, as if searching for something. "Pitch Black, the Nightmare King." He announces, and drops my hand. He looks almost disappointed when I just nod and continue frosting the wall. What was he expecting? Do people usually expect things after introductions? I can't recall.  
"Do you usually stare at people like this?" I ask a few minutes later, because that's what he's been doing. Staring. Staring at me like he can't decide what to do next.

"No. I just expected a bit more, I guess."

I look over my wall. "Is it really that bad? I'm not really in the right mood today, I'll admit, but I thought the design over there were quite brilliant of me." I say, pointing to my favorite patch so far. It looks a bit like a horse, but skeletal, with swirling patters around it that for some reason make me think of black sand.

I think I've done it before but I'm not sure.

Pitch's eyes widen and return to normal again before he pushes off the wall and stalks past me, going over to run his fingers along the frosty horse's side.

"Yes." He all but purrs. "Yes, quite brilliant. Remarkable, even. Tell me, Mr Frost,"

"Call me Jack." I tell him, and he nods in acceptance, though he looks a bit peeved by the interruption.

"Yes. Jack. Do you have many friends, Jack?"

I'm a bit confused as to why he'd ask that, but I'm lonely, I decide, so I think I'll answer anyways. I don't want him to leave, and I can't remember the last time I talked to someone who could see me.

I don't want to be alone. I know being alone upsets me. I could never forget that; forget loneliness.

"A few. Lessee, there's Sandy," Pitch nodded along. Maybe he knows Sandy too. "Teeth," Pitch raised a hairless brow at me, and I struggled to remember another. There was another, I was sure. An animal, of some sort. Big. Good at jumping. "and, uh... Kangaroo?" I guess, and suddenly Pitch is laughing, which strikes me as sort of odd, because I have this weird feeling, like I know he's not the laughing type, and like I know that him laughing is a bad thing.

But that's ridiculous. I can't have possibly met him before. Even with my memory, I'd remember those eyes, I'm certain. There's no way I could take the time to stare into those big golden eyes and forget them. Right? And that laugh, too. I couldn't forget that.

Pitch has a lovely laugh. A bit evil sounding, if that's a thing. A sort of villainy laugh. But nice. Deep and kind of like a cackle, but better. Too lovely to ignore.

"Tell me, Jack," Pitch says once he calms down. I'm almost finished with the wall now; I'll be leaving soon. "have you seen any if them recently?"

I don't see how that's any of his business, and stay silent. But he seems to take that as a no. Maybe it is. And maybe I haven't.

"Well then, Jack, would you like it if I was your friend too? I could come by every day, and we could do all sorts of things." Pitch says, and I feel in my belly that I should say no, that this is somehow terrible.

But my heart says yes because I'm lonely, and I don't really listen to my mind nowadays, so I don't bother to ask its opinion.

"I would love that."

And then Pitch leaves, and I put the finishing touches on the wall, and wonder if I imagined him. But then I see the places on the frost horse that are just slightly melted from his fingertips, and figure either he must be real, or that I put them there and forgot about it.

But my fingers are too cold to melt anything.

So it must be the former. I really hope it isn't the latter. I think a friend could be nice. It's not like I have any others, since Jamie died.

xXx

The man does come back. I can't quite remember his name, but I knew he's my friend. He said he would be.

"Hello, Jack." The man purrs in greeting, and I send another flurry of snowflakes down to the ground below us before I turn to him with a smile on my face. I hope my teeth are white. I don't know why, but suddenly I'm concerned with my dental hygiene. Have I flossed?

"Hi!" I say. I still can't recall his name. I'll have to ask. It's best to be blunt. "What was your name again?"

He frowns at me, as if offended. I suppose that forgetting his name was rather rude of me. After all, he remembered mine.

Jack. Jack Frost. Even I wouldn't forget my own name.

"Pitch Black." He drawls, and I smile brightly at him before looking back down.

"Wanna see something funny, Pitch?" I ask, and he leans first forward, then back, then forward again, like he can't decide.

"I suppose."

So I send a bigger flurry down, so big that the wind blows things over and the snow piles up like crazy. I can hear yells and shrieks, and I turn to grin at Pitch.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

He gives me a shark grin that makes my heart skip a beat, and nods.

"Quite."

We stay there for a while, up in the air, me on the wind and... I don't actually know how he is flying, come to think of it. Maybe I asked already though, and I forgot the answer. I don't want to chance it and ask again and appear even ruder. What if he thought I didn't pay attention to him, and got angry and left? I don't want that to happen.

I don't want to be left behind.

I pay plenty of attention to him, I think. For instance, all I can think about right now are his eyes, and I start sending down sleet instead of snow because for some reason I can't remember, but sleet definitely suits his eyes better.

But I can't actually remember what color his eyes are right now, so I have to look up, and to my surprise we meet gazes. Was he staring at me?

His eyes are big, and gold, and cold, colder then any of my sleet.

I instantly adore them.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have awesome eyes?" I ask, and as Pitch shakes his head, I feel like hurting him. I'm not sure why. But I hate it. I absolutely hate the feeling, the want. Because I don't ever want to hurt him. Or forget him. I want to remember him and his gold eyes and weird hair and apparent ability for flying.

Because he's apparently my friend.

And that's how people treat friends, right? People never hurt their friends, right? I can't recall. But even if it isn't how it is, I'll still do it. Still never hurt him.

"Oh. Well you do." I eventually say, and those golden eyes gleam at me. I feel like prey.

We stay a bit longer before he leaves, and I send a few good sized hailstones down in his wake for good measure, because he seems like the type to enjoy drama and because I can no longer remember the color of Pitch's cloak.

No, that's not right. It was black. Befitting of a Nightmare King.

And I suddenly wonder, as I send one last bunch of hail down, what a Nightmare King is.

And then I leave.

xXx

There's something trailing up and down my back, and it's delightfully warm, and I somehow know what it is.

Because what else warm is there? What else is there that melts my ice?

"Pitch." I greet, and mentally pat myself on the back for remembering his first name for the first time in the week we've been friends. I can't remember his second, though.

"Jack." He returns, and pulls his hand away from where it had finally rested on my shoulder. I'm sitting on a park bench, watching children who can't see me play and tumble around, and feeling this weird feeling in my chest that says that one of them is missing. But I don't know which. But there should be something... brown hair. And... laughter? Or is it tears? I can't remember. I don't know any of them, anyhow, so I don't know why I'm looking.

I wish he'd put his hand back. I can't remember when someone last touched me. I miss the warmth so much I decide to do something bad, and send a wind so strong it knocks one of the littlest children face down into the slushy snow, and it takes a while before she pops back up, red-faced and crying, her blond hair a wet mess now.

"How have you been?" He asks, sounding so pleasant, sounding so wrong, though I'm not sure why. It seems like a normal question to ask.

"Oh, I'm fine. How about you? Do anything fun recently? Any nice Nightmares?" Nightmares. Where did that come from? Let alone nice nightmares? Can there even be nice nightmares?

Pitch sits down beside me and crosses one leg over the other, then gives me this long look. His eyes look nice. And I like his hair. Mine is fluffy and white, like the snow I make, but his is swept straight back and the deepest shade of black, like the shadows that are cast by something sharp. And he's still giving me a look, like he can't figure something out. I practically jump when he finally speaks again.

"Yes, now that you mention it," He says, and I can't remember what he's talking about. But I just nod like I can remember anything other then his voice and conflicting needs to hurt and to protect. "I gave a little girl a wonderful nightmare just last night. It was about her family leaving her."

I suck in a breath, and let it out slowly. "That's sad." I say, and he raises a hairless brow in questioning, but it somehow feels accusing. "I mean, not the nightmare part. It's just sad that she's afraid of her family leaving her."

"Oh? And why is that sad? Most people are scared of such things."

"Really? But that's the stupidest thing ever!" I blurt, then immediately want to hit myself over the head with my cane, because Pitch doesn't look very impressed at the moment, and it makes me want to scream. "I just- I mean- what's so good about family?" I try to amend, even though I know this is going to make it worse, and immediately look down again. I was never good with words, could never get the right ones out at the right time. That's why Bunny was so angry.

"I mean... I never had one. But I get along fine. So what's so great about them?"

I chance a tiny glance up, and see... a smiling Pitch. Pitch doesn't have a very nice smile. Or maybe he does. It just looks very dark. Like he's hatching a plot to destroy the earth as we speak.

If he is, I hope he'll ask me to help. I'm dreadfully bored.

"Yes, what? What is so good about having someone you have to look after, when you could have someone to simply work with, who you're not tied down with? Who you can just laugh and destroy things with?" He asks, and I nod along, surprised that he understands. The others never understood. Not even Jamie. "Would you like to do that? Work with me?" I nod again, and he laughs, and I remember that I like his laugh, because even if it sounds a bit evil, it's deep, and it's warm, just like the hand that is once again on my shoulder, making my breath catch and legs shiver. Especially when it starts dropping down, once again warmth trailing down my back.

I have a sudden craving for hot cocoa and touching Pitch's face.

"Well then." Pitch purrs as he stands up, stretching elegantly. He's so long you'd think he'd be awkward, but he's not. He's damnably graceful. And I'm oh so envious. "I'll see you tomorrow, and maybe we can get started on some of that work." And he's gone, and for the first time I see how it happens, how black sand bursts up from nowhere and swallows him like he's the most delectable thing it has ever seen.

"Bye." I echo, but he's already gone.

And this time I can remember that his cloak is black.

xXx

We do work. We sprint from house to house, I with cold, and Pitch making children cry out in their sleep. And I feel a bit bad about it, but that's mostly overridden by the joy of finally having someone there with me, who can see me, who will talk back.

I don't know if I've had anyone else to talk to before, aside from the moon.

And it's nice to be answered.

Because the moon never did that.

* * *

Well, there's my first try at a Rise of the Guardians story. The plot should be obvious, but if you can't pick it up, it's that Jamie died and Jack separated himself from everyone else in order to grieve. The other guardians tried to help at first, but they just made it worse, and eventually stopped trying. And after a while Jack simply started to forget all of them. And forget Jamie too. He still remembers sometimes, but for the most part, he's just a blank slate, thus why he lets Pitch get close to him. He has this inkling feeling, this unremembered memory, that Pitch is a bad guy, but for the most part, he's so lonely by now that he doesn't care. So Pitch decides to take advantage of that.

Anyhow, many thanks for reading, and please review! Any flames will be celebrated like crazy because I have yet to get one, and I feel like it's some weird ritual of acceptance into the fanfic community? Byeeeee!


	2. Defecting

**Warning!** : I was trying to write Failing as a story geared towards people younger then me. Yet honestly, the very basis of it was somewhat dark to begin with, and I'm not very good at dumbing down my vocabulary, as I realized yesterday while looking through the previous chapter and realizing that most six and seven year olds probably don't know what nonchalant means. Of course, some undoubtably do; I probably did by then, I read dictionaries as a child just so that I could sound smarter then the other kids my age, and my family has a ridiculously ornate way of speaking. And some people older then five may have been reading it too! Nonetheless, I decided to up the rating on this chapter, to give myself a little bit more literary freedom, and I also changed the style to better fit the new plot. So this chapter has a "bad word". It's not made into an enormously big deal or anything, but if you've got issues with that sort of thing, don't read.

Also, this chapter is partly from Bunny's point of view, so I looked up Australian slang and used what I could. If you don't understand anything, there will be another author note at the bottom explaining it. Hopefully.

* * *

"We haven't seen Jack in a while," Tooth begins, and I all but sigh and roll my eyes. "No, don't look at me like that, you guys. I'm worried about him."

Tooth is always worried about Jack. Jack and his dental hygiene, and whether or not the little bugger has been flossing. But she knows plenty well that they can't go see him all the time.

The youngest Guardian is still in a mood from Littl' Jamie's death. Honestly, we all are. It was completely unexpected, tragic and gruesome. And every spirit grows attached to their first believer, it's a fact of our existence.

"Actually," North begins in a voice far more serious then his usual lighthearted scolding, and my ear twitches. This is new. Usually North would be the first to tell Tooth off. "I think you might be right. I've been keeping an eye on the globe, and quite a few believer lights have gone out around Jack," Oh bugger all, of course something has to be up with the believers. There's always something up with the believers. "I think there may be something up."

Tooth gasps. "Do you think Pitch is back?" She worries, and I actually join her a bit in her anxiety this time. I know we can beat the crook, but last time scared me silly for a bit.

"No, no, nothing like that. Jack would have noticed! It's probably something else. Bunny, you can go?" North hurries to comfort her, and I nod, but I'm not as convinced that Pitch has no part in this. It's been a while since any of us checked that he was still imprisoned. And if Jack's funk is still as bad as it was before...

xXx

I can't believe it. I though He may have been out, but _this_? I just _cannot_ believe it. But I can see it, right there in front of me.

Jack is hanging off of Pitch. Literally. He's holding onto Pitch's arm and looking up at the Boogeyman like a lovesick sheila, hanging onto Pitch's every whispered word like it's gospel. His icy white eyes are shining up at Pitch, and he's grinning, and his young face is so flushed with happiness that his pale skin is almost the same shade as that of a normal person.

And I want to know what that bastard is saying, just so that I can prove him wrong.

But I was only sent to check on Jack, not interact with him. North specifically said not too, and I understand. But losing someone is supposed to make you want to be by yourself, not by Pitch Black, the Nightmare King. That's wrong. That's so bloody wrong.

Jack laughs and makes a woman trip on ice that wasn't there on the sidewalk a moment ago and fall into a pile of dirty, sooty snow, and I make my decision, idiotic as it probably will seem in a few moments.

But I just can't watch Jack snuggling into Pitch's side like that any longer.

xXx

Pitch is visiting again. He's always visiting, every single day, and I love it, downright adore it. I don't even get a chance to forget him anymore, he's burned every single part of himself into me by now. He's the only thing that I can remember. And it's like a hole in me had been filled, even if there's still a little inkling of doubt in the back of my mind, in the bottom of my belly. I can squish it down easily, and I know that one day soon it will be gone forever. I _know_.

"That woman's dress is ghastly." Pitch says, and I look around us to see who he's talking about. My eyes land on a woman with mousy brown hair and a pretty face, walking out of a craft store, weighed down by bags and dressed in a thick sweater dress that is a horrid shade of orangutan-red, with a sapphire blue leggings and a white jacket, and I want to vomit for a brief moment before I start laughing, clinging tighter to Pitch's arm to keep myself upright.

"Who in the world would wear that?" Pitch asks incredulously, like he genuinely cannot believe how far humanity has fallen, and I snicker as I wave my cane and send ice snaking down the sidewalk to trip the woman. She slips and lands in some dirty snow that has been piled up by the snowplows, so muddy it's practically black, and she moans as she heaves herself back upright and picks up her bags, her appalling dress now ruined.

And thusly, my good deed of the day is complete. I have saved the minds of many from a truly scarring article of clothing.

I snuggle a tiny bit closer to Pitch, and I know it annoys him a tiny bit because he grimaces for a moment, but I can't help myself. His warmth is more addicting than anything else I know.

A funny sound from behind is all the warning I get before something bowls me over from behind, making me giggle for a tiny moment, because I have the feeling that usually I'm the one knocking someone down, not the other way around. But then all I feel is anger, because the moment was going just perfectly before I was knocked down, and all I want is to hurt whatever it was that made me have to separate from Pitch's warmth.

So I turn around with my cane held so tight in my hand my knuckles have turned even whiter then normal, and point it directly into the face of the weird grey creature that pushed me.

I have no idea what a kangaroo is doing here in the middle of winter, but who knows, maybe they're native? Are they? I don't remember. Are kangaroos native to Pennsylvania?

Am I in Pennsylvania? I don't remember.

"Look, mate, put ya staff down!" The creature says, and he's positioned between me and Pitch, one green eye focused on each of us quivering. Hopefully with cold. I hope he's absolutely _freezing_. Yet I have this tiny whisper telling me to stop hoping for such things. It's that same whisper that stays at the back of my mind and the bottom of my belly, and suddenly I'm so angry that I don't know what to do with myself, and I can't remember why but it's definitely there.

Why should I listen to this stranger? Why should I do what he tells me do? I barely do what Pitch tells me to do, and he has a right to tell me things by now, after all the times he has been here, my one and only friend. This stranger had _no_ right.

But I don't even get to hurt him before Pitch just sighs dramatically and waves a hand, and whoever and whatever it is, is swallowed up by Pitch's black sand and deposited elsewhere, and Pitch is back at my side, running a hand down my back, and I bring down a flurry of snow in honor of this event that I feel somehow means something, although I'm not quite sure what.

Honestly, I'm not even sure what happened. Did something happen? Or have we just been standing here this whole time? Either way, when I see a little girl with a bunny eared headband run by with her parents, I can't resist dropping the temperature just to make her colder.

xXx

Pitch is looking at me funny today. I can feel it. He hasn't even said hello yet, he's simply standing behind me and I can feel his eyes on my neck. So I turn, and wonder what I can do to make this, whatever this is, better. How I can make Pitch act like normal. How to make him cackle and plot, and how to get him to make me feel uneasy and warm and ready to make a blizzard, because It seems like it may have been a while since I made a blizzard, but at the same time doesn't.

"Pitch?" I say, and he's looking down at his darkness cloaked feet, like he is deep in thought. "Pitch?" I try again, and he sighs, and looks up just so that he can roll his golden eyes at me, and he looks so utterly ridiculous doing so that I have to hold back a smile.

"What?" He demands, looking supremely annoyed, and I snicker. Pitch looking annoyed always makes me feel absurdly victorious, but I don't know why.

"Want to get some cocoa?" I ask him, because it feels right to ask that for some reason, and he freezes.

"You... you're an idiot." He finally says, more like hisses, and I allow myself my smile. That's more like him, I think.

"I know. Hey, it's almost dark. Wanna go out and do some terrible things to small children?"

xXx

I'm frosting windows and chilling bedrooms, and he's dropping nightmares like candy, and now I'm sitting on the ground with little golden snowflakes dancing around my head in as way that reminds me eerily of Pitch's black sand, and I can hear him yelling.

 _Why is Pitch yelling?_ I can't remember ever hearing Pitch yell.

"Jack!" Someone shouts, and I wave the snowflakes away just in time to see a woman covered in feathers, feathers in shades of peridot and night sky and gold, flitting towards me on dozens of wings, and I have the tiniest feeling that I know her, but I can't remember a single place where I would have met her. "Jack, are y-" She doesn't even get to finish before I've waved my cane and spikes of ice are shooting towards her, and she flies upwards as quickly as she can to avoid them, and that's all the opening I need to rush towards where I can still hear Pitch shouting. She'll stay occupied for a bit; they're made to follow their target until destroyed. While I run, I can hear her squealing as she tries to keep avoiding my ice.

I kind of hope she will, but I don't remember what I'm hoping for.

When I finally find Pitch, he's surrounded by three people I don't recognize. A short and stout man dressed in gold, a big bearded man in red and black fur, and what looks like angry kangaroo, the last of which fills me with rage for some reason that I can't remember. But seeing Pitch in the midst of them makes me want to both cheer and scream, so I do both, and all eyes are suddenly on me as I call the wind and fly forward to get to Pitch, and twist in midair so that I land on the top of my cane behind and above him, balanced perfectly and no doubt looking totally awesome, and still making little chortling sounds to myself.

"Jack." Pitch purrs up to me, and I smile a little bit down to him. He looks just as absurdly graceful as ever, and his eyes are like molten gold, awake and liquid with the same need to fight these strangers that I know flows in my own eyes as well. His hair is the same as always, swept neatly and sharply back, but I can tell he's a little bit ruffled, because his ashen cheeks are flushed a deeper shade of smoky grey with exertion, and his thin lips are set in a grim line that I want to touch and mold back into a smile.

He really does look better when he's smiling. His smiles are the best, toothy and fangy and perfect for sending an atrocious shiver up my spine. They warm me just as deliciously as his hands do.

"'Sup?" I bounce back, and there, there it is, a tiny twist of amusement at the very corners of his mouth. He's actually secretly glad to see me. And I don't know why, but I get this feeling that him being happy to see me is never a good thing, before it's squashed by happiness, because I can't remember a time that Pitch smiling was a bad thing.

"It seems that the Guardians are here. Do you remember the Guardians?" He asks, and I hear the breathe from the other three catch, and I shrug, because I have no idea what he's talking about.

He knows I have a rubbish memory.

"Nope. Who're they?" I ask, and it's like time unfreezes, and the three charge into action against us, and I have to jump from my cane to stop a blast of golden sand that is flying towards Pitch's back from above, because I have the uncanny feeling that this strange sand is a terrible threat to him.

I think I like the sable sand much better then this golden, I decide when the latter slams into me and I lose all the breath in my stomach, and it is released as a terrible shriek as I fall.

But oddly enough, I'm glad. Because just like that, it's like the sand breaks what's left of that tiny niggling feeling that has been telling me not to adore Pitch. It is broken easily by this blow, and a weight is lifted from me, and somewhere in me a pocket of air and memories breaks, and suddenly I can remember all sorts of things.

It's the little things at first. What day it is. What dream Sandy sent me last night.

Then the things get bigger. What day is Easter. Where I am supposed to be spreading winter at the moment.

And last of all, that one day that North was over, and he kept mentioning someone named Jamie, and suddenly I know who that is.

Or was. Jamie's gone.

Pitch grabs me before I hit the ground, and I cling to him, because he's the only thing that is solid right now, and I'm not sure what to do for a moment, before I accidentally let loose a whine and Pitch holds me tighter, and suddenly I realize that, even with Jamie gone, I still have a believer.

Because Pitch believes in me, or believes that I have potential, at least. I can see it in the concern of his golden gaze as he looks down at me and cradles me in his warm arms.

 _Pitch Black is concerned for me_. I want to laugh, laugh hysterically and maniacally and so hard that I cry, because this is so wrong, and yet so right, and the Guardians left me alone, and it was Pitch, lovely, frightening, and grotesque Pitch, the King of Fear, that rescued me from myself.

These people have no sway over me anymore. They lost that right. And I'm going to tell that to them.

I call the wind.

xXx

Silence strikes the field yet again in the wake of Jack's screech, and my boomerang flies right back and passes my head, miraculously missing me and instead clattering to the concrete of the alleyway ground a few yards away.

Jack is hurtling towards the ground, and I can't bear to move a muscle, and that's why Pitch, the mongrel, is the one to catch Jack instead of me. And the little ankle biter whines a newborn and clings to the boogeyman like he's feeling clucky, before cold wind blasts outwards from the two so hard that I can't keep my eyes open, and I can feel my paws skidding backwards no matter how hard I try to stand by ground.

When the wind finally calms down enough that I'm no longer being blown away, I open my eyes, and immediately want to shut them, because Jack is looking straight at me with his face so full of loathing it stuns me.

"I guess I lied." He croons sweetly, to Pitch, who's still holding him in his arms like a rapt kid with a new toy. "I remember them perfectly."

* * *

End author note with all the foreign slang that I may or may not be using correctly:

Bogan: Immature person

Sheila: Woman

Mate: Buddy, friend

Mongrel: One of those people whom you know is absolutely _despicable_

Ankle biter: Little kid, young person in general

Clucky: Maternal, clingy

Anyways, thanks for reading and reviewing, Trainer Fiona and sparklehannah! Your wonderful reviews inspired me to write another chapter, and I hope you like this one too, even if it is in a very different style from its predecessor. Thank you also to any other readers, new or otherwise, and those who followed this story. I hope it lives up to your expectations, and that you don't mind me upping the rating too much? I sometimes forget what people younger then me are okay with, and I hope no one has trouble, young readers or otherwise. Next chapter should be up within the week!

Please review, I have yet to get that flame and am eagerly awaiting it. (Not that I'm begging or anything, mind you.)


	3. Leaving

When the wind dies down everybody is staring at me, and I feel so angry. I can remember _everything_. Remember all the time the Guardians ignored me after Jamie's death, and how even when they came they were just uncomfortable with me feeling anything but happy, and how they always left so quickly, left me to wallow in my oh so oppressing loneliness until my mind shattered and lost piece after piece of itself. Until Pitch came along and imprinted himself so strongly and so often, every single day, that I can hardly forget a single thing about him.

I know I could hardly expect more from the Guardians. We barely knew each other even then, we'd just met practically, and this was the first breakdown of mine they had witnessed. Goodness knows it must have been awkward for them. I always try to act happy, if nothing else, but Jamie's death left me so exhausted I didn't even want to bother. I thought that that wouldn't matter to my brand new friends, who preached wonder and happiness and would never leave me to wallow alone.

So how could they? Leave me so alone like that, just like they weren't supposed to, so pathetic that it was _Pitch_ , Pitch Black the Nightmare King, the _villain_ , who had to save me from myself?

I'd almost think that he's more loyal then they are. Or actually... yes. Yes, he is. They left me so easily as soon as I wasn't acting like a helpful, cheerful Guardian for them, but Pitch came back despite what I'd done to him. I damned the King of Fear himself to a life of terror, and he still came right back for more.

And he has never once complained about me ruining Easter.

I hear a shriek coming closer, Tooth's shriek, and she has just one last ice spike still after her, but it shatters on the ground behind her when she lands by the others, looking out of breath, very ruffled, and extremely confused. "Jack?" She chirps and tries to come closer, but Pitch's shadow lengthens and bites at her feet and she doesn't try to move closer anymore, but stands her ground. That makes me feel just a tiny bit more abandoned. "Jack? Are you okay? I heard you screaming... You're not hurt, are you? I'm really really sorry about trying to knock you out earlier. But Jack, you were doing some very bad things! How could you?" She demands, and I feel the overwhelming urge to hiss like a cat at her bird-like self.

She looks utterly bewildered when I do, but Pitch chuckles. And it's just as lovely as I remember it. Deep and evil and warm and like something I could eat.

"I was bored." I tell her, and she looks just as bewildered, but I'm looking at Bunny out of the corner of my eye and I see the understanding dawn in his green ones.

"Tooth, get over here." Bunny snaps, his accent blindingly obvious in his stress. He sounds like the poster boy for Australia, a stereotype given form.

Also, I kind of want to punch him in the face.

"No, stay for a while!" Pitch says charmingly. "You mustn't leave so quickly. I haven't even gotten to serve the tea, let alone poison it, yet." He beckons to the other Guardians, and I snicker.

"Oh yes. Pitch here makes the most exquisite tea. Almost as lovely as his nightmares." I tell them, and feel like laughing because I only now realize just how sublime his nightmares are. I used to think them terrible, and now they delight me. Isn't that hilarious?

But there's something absolutely wonderful in knowing what you're afraid of.

"Jack? What do you think you're doing? You're doing bad things! Stop it at once, Jack, please!" Tooth pleads one more time, and it's the last tick in my patience, because how dare she accuse me of anything? She lost that right when she left me alone for so long that my memory failed.

"I'm leaving."

"We both are." Pitch corrects. "We're going to bring about a whole new era. Aren't we, Jack?" And I don't even have to wreck my brain to remember what we're talking about before I answer with a yes.

Because I'm far too bored, and the other Guardians haven't moved a muscle from where they were when this whole conversation started. I was never this still, I know that for a fact. I'm terrible at staying still.

I feel no regret as I wriggle out of Pitch's warm arms and hit the concrete to charge at the other Guardians, who startle like scared rabbits. Even the Kangaroo.

How fitting.

I have to keep evading, because as much as I hate it, Pitch and I are outnumbered, and at first I have to concentrate on just not losing. But Tooth is being soft on me, I can tell it. She's not trying even half of her best. So it's not long before I freeze her in a block of ice that with take days to melt, and run towards North instead, because I know that he's going to go a little soft too. And all I do is duck and dodge, and now I'm right beside him, and all it takes is a tap of my cane to his side to make him topple over, frostbitten and struggling to breath.

Then I head over to help Pitch.

He's been handling Sandy and Bunny like a champ, and is swinging his magnificent scythe like the Grimm Reaper reborn, like fighting with a giant instrument of mass destruction against the Guardians of Childhood is his calling.

I kind of feel like it's mine, too.

I jump to the right to avoid Bunny's boomerang, but he's already ragged from fighting Pitch and he hasn't even noticed that I'm here. So I decide to inform him. I send ice spreading over the ground, careful to avoid where Pitch is, and watch in glee as snakes begin to form in the patterns of the ice, until they reach where Bunny is currently standing and break out of the ice, lunging heads of frigid cold that snap and sink their icy fangs into Bunny's legs and make him yell before turning and meeting my eyes, his own emerald ones widening a fraction before he starts trying to break the icicle serpents.

But they'll take a long time to break. I know my ice and all of its faults and strengths, and Bunny will be stuck there for a good long while.

Sandy is next, and he'll take either the longest or the shortest, because I know him, and he knows me, and we're both strong.

But this time it's two against one, and Sandy is starting to look a bit frayed because I think he's noticed that he's the last one left.

He never did do well with losing anyone. He takes to the air and Pitch and I follow, and that is his mistake, because we're all in our element up here in the starlit sky.

It's a piece of cake to send spikes of ice to freeze his sand solid in the air. Cold breezes are all it takes to knock him from his hovering cloud, and Pitch sends Shadows to be waiting on the ground to swallow him up and fly up and drop him again, and then again, and by the end of it the Sandman is so still I actually feel a little bit of regret.

He always sent me the best dreams, and now he's just as defenseless and unprotected as the rest of them.

And now I can I hear Pitch laugh behind me, and I join in, and feel the rough texture of his jet black sand as it slides up over first my bare ankles, then my legs, waist, until the world is black and we're dropped in an entirely new place, both of us laughing heavily and me now with more then a touch of hysteria, and I don't even care that this is Pitch Black the Nightmare King, that Jamie is dead, that any of my past ever happened, because quite frankly, it's useless to me now. Life abandoned me, and then everyone else did too. Things have changed.

Now Jamie only brings pain, the Guardians only bring annoyance and overwhelming betrayal, and Pitch brings both warmth and wonderful, delectable satisfaction.

xXx

We've been doing this for three weeks now. Dancing from town to town, Pitch and I, spreading dreadful cold and fear in our wake, and the other Guardians can't do a single thing about it. We're too fast for them, too random, too clever. They chase us like we're ribbons on the wind, no, like we are snowflakes, and they forget to watch their own believers.

I love the believers. I make sure they never come to harm during our escapades, and I make sure that they have fun for days afterwards. But the other Guardians need to be weaker, and children can feel wonder without them. A few less believers won't hurt anybody but the Guardians.

I'm sneaking into the North Pole workshop, and I know Pitch is somewhere behind me, because I can feel his shadows creeping along the floor below my feet.

Pitch's shadow is sable black, ebony black, jet black, even pitch black, every word for black there is, just the deepest, darkest black imaginable. Everything about Pitch is black, except for his ashen grey skin and golden eyes. His hair, his cloak, his sand, his Night Mares, all black.

His Night Mares are extremely awkward to be around. He doesn't seem to mind them, but sometimes all I can think about is how I once set them on him, and I'll feel nothing but regret. Pitch isn't a nice person, not nice at all, but he's no more evil then I am. He just wants to have some fun. And some power. Pitch is _obsessed_ with power.

It's actually somewhat endearing to listen to him rant about it. And he can go on for hours about it, about finally having believers. He's desperate for believers, after centuries and more of parents telling their children that he isn't real.

I hope we can win him a few more believers with this endeavor. It'll be good for everyone, both him and them. He may not seem it, but Pitch totally dotes on his believers. He always ensures that they know about the dangers in life.

I hear a grumble, and then another, and suddenly there's shuffling, and I know we're getting close to our target: the globe.

I call up the wind and let it carry me the rest of the way, through the room of frantically pointing yeti and over to land atop the globe, and perch myself somewhere in Russia. Pitch follows, sweeps around the room as a shadow, cackling dramatically before he comes and joins me, standing towards the top of Canada.

We preform the same routine he employed when he was here the last time, and it's just as theatrical, and I laugh because man, it's fun as I step on these lights and crush them just like I crush the tiny twinges of guilt inside me. The guilt falls easily, because even without my new personal grudge against them, I'm also certain that children deserve better then Guardians who only enforce happiness.

I've spent long enough with sadness and anger now, that I'm fairly convinced they're just as magnificent.

Loneliness, as much as I hate it, still brings me a little bit of peace when I think about it. It makes my tilt my head back and close my eyes and let out a breathe as it washes over me, makes me colder then ever before, and makes me question things I would never have thought to question.

Rage burns bright and makes me get things done, makes me feel passion, makes energy bounce through me like a lit fuse and snap in my eyes as I finally let go and tell whoever has been unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of my wrath exactly what I think.

Usually this is Pitch, and, my goodness, how did I never before notice how patient he was? He's practically a saint.

I jump just in time to avoid the lash of golden sand that comes out of nowhere, and cackle as I continue to avoid it, even though, faced with Sandy, I'm not entirely into it anymore.

If there was one Guardian I never minded and probably never will, it's Sandy. Not because he came more back then, in fact he probably came less.

But I think he understood what was wrong better then any of the others.

The fight goes like all the others. Well, not quite. They hold out slightly better this time; they're learning our moves, our habits.

But they're not bothering to change their own, and Pitch and I still trounce them and leave the North Pole workshop in ashes, flames licking through the old wooden structure like a child through an ice cream cone. Black sand envelopes me, itchy, and I take one last look over my shoulder. Yetis scurrying out and about, saving what they can. Tooth sobbing in the sky. North and Bunny frantically trying to use the plentiful snow to put out the many flames. Sandy is nowhere in sight. Ebony sand finally obscures my vision, and Pitch and I blink away.

xXx

"Pitch?" I call, ducking under and around one of the many ridiculous dark formations that crowd in his underground home.

I find him on his throne.

It's a surprisingly simply thing, the gaudiest thing about it the hour-glass slope of the back and the few black embroideries that decorate the even blacker seat. For such a dramatic and attention grabbing being, you kind of expect him to sit on something ominous and tall, but no. It's still ominous, and still imposing, but mostly it fits him, in this weird sort of way that makes me feel the smallest amount of want to grab him and cover him in kisses like some abandoned kitten I've just found, and then shake my head in annoyance at him ten seconds later.

He just sits there, unaware of my internal conflict.

Thank all good forces in the world for that. I'd rather keep my spleen, thank you, and I have no doubt I would promptly lose it if he knew what I was currently thinking about.

He stays there in the dark, deep in thought, me watching him from close by and barely breathing, and it makes me feel both unwanted and more loved then ever before, because while today isn't one of those days, sometimes I just know that he sits there and sighs endlessly in annoyance, because on some days, he's thinking only of me and the various distractions, annoyances, successes and amusements I provide him.

I like the thought of him thinking of me. I like it a lot. It makes me want to hug him.

I don't hug him, but I do drop myself right into his lap, eliciting a tiny grunt, and then thin arms wrap around me and bring me close and tight to him, and I know that if I were a cat I would be purring, because I feel so very, very warm, and so very, very content, and maybe just a little bit sleepy.

xXx

When I wake, I'm still on Pitch's throne, but he's noticeably absent. Yet hot black sand, warm like some invisible sun in beating down on it, is twining around me, and there's a mug full of hot cocoa within reach.

It's so sweet I want to die of happiness.

And there are marshmallows.

When I finally get up to once again find Pitch and maybe, even hopefully, cuddle with him some more, the sand drops away and melts into the shadowy floor, and I set off with a warm feeling in my belly and thoughts of somehow getting Pitch to take the next nap beside me in mind.

* * *

Phhhfft. Did I say the update would be within the week? I meant whenever I got over my reoccurring writers block next! A tip to the wise: Never trust Lor. She's cray cray.

Anyhow... guess who got some more lovely reviews! Thank you once again to Trainer Fiona and sparklehannah, I'm so thankful for your advice and your thoughts, and also to WinterCrystal1009, who's review made me laugh, and whom I hope will continue to write grotesque stuff. 'S the best kind sometimes!

Since you brought it up, I think Jack is going to be kind of neutral, but at the same time not? Is that a thing? He definitely hates the Guardians. He gets why they did what they did, and even understands that, normally, it wouldn't be that bad. Yet it's not the first time they have left him all on his lonesome. He was on his own for a long time before the events of the movie. Isolation can cause problems, even with short periods of socialization in between. And in this story, Jamie's death actually occurred pretty quickly after canon events, just a few months after. And Jack's new period of isolation and solitude lasted maybe three years? Sophie is Jamie's age now, not sure of their actual ages. The point is, he's not specifically dark. He still cares about the children (Though not really the adults, and he's irrational towards children wearing bunny ears sometimes.), he still cares about getting believers and, hopefully, keeping these ones safe. But he's angry at the Guardians despite understanding their reasons, and he will go down fighting them if he has to. He has officially joined Pitch in that regard.

And Pitch isn't going to harm the children ether. Just remind them that, sometimes, things are supposed to be feared.

Well, that's all! The end, and all that! Thanks for reading, please review, and byeeeeee!


	4. Creating

As it turns out, the Sandman is, or rather was, very susceptible to flaming workshops.

I don't even stick around to help with the whole fight. It takes forever to catch Tooth off guard now that she's abruptly grown out of her softness around me, but I finally knock Tooth in the head so hard with my cane that she falls unconscious and will probably be having a killer headache over these next few days. And then I flee the scene of the crime because the guilt exploded in me the moment I heard about Sandy, and right now I can't bear to look at the other Guardians right now, because the thought of only seeing three of them hurts just a little bit too much to bear.

I end up at my old clearing, the one I used to haunt, in Burgess, Pennsylvania, the one with the lake.

The one where I drowned. The one where I awakened as a winter spirit. The one where I saved my sister. The one where we fought Pitch. The one Jamie and I used to play at.

And there I cry, just a little bit, before I go to meet Pitch in the lair, because there isn't a single doubt in my mind that he'll be there, gloating over the most recent victory, and maybe feeling the tiniest bit of remorse, because I know he kind of liked Sandytoo, in the twisted, mutated way that comes of fighting and stealing from someone so often that you can't help but notice their brilliance.

He is. I hurl myself at him and drag him, only partly forcefully, into the the nearest room with a bed in it.

xXx

The next fight goes down easier then ever. Guilt still eats away at my belly and my heart whenever I notice Sandman's gaping absence, but all that it takes to momentarily bury it is one look at Pitch and the memory of his hands on my skin on that night.

The fight is quick, and I feel a warm hand rest on my hip for a split second before we disappear in the sand, leaving the once more defeated Guardians in our wake.

xXx

I'm spreading cold and chill one night, and sculpting snowdrifts in alleyways, when I hear a door slam open and the shriek of a little girl before one sails right past over my head, landing violently in a drift I created just minutes before and letting out a shrill cry on impact, disappearing from view for a few seconds before her head and shoulders pop back out, an island of brilliant red hair and purple bruised shoulders in an ocean of white snow. Her monotone brown eyes look up miserably at the paint chipped doorway from which she was thrown, where there stands a man with buzz cut black hair and different colored eyes half hidden behind cheap reading classes, sneering down at her and looking way too satisfied with his handiwork.

"This'll teach you to bother me, you little brat!" He spits out, cracks the knuckles of his ring coated hands, and the girl quivers for a reason not at all related to the cold. "Or this won't be the only night you spend out in the cold, with all those monsters you're always afraid of!" I swivel my head to look at the little girl again, just in time to see her eyes widen a fraction and her jaw drop. "I told you all 'bout the Boogeyman, right, brat? He loves eating little wastes of space like you, so slowly you can feel each bite! I hopes he gets you, that way I'll not have to deal with ya! Teach you to mess with me, huh!" He slams the door shut, and the girl just sits there for a few moments, before her eyes fill with big fat tears and she rushed to the door and begins to hit and knock at it in a panic, shrieking and begging to be let in until the man opens it again just to slap her so hard across the face she flies back into the same snow drift, and slams it again, and Pitch chooses that opportune moment to appear beside me, in all his black and golden glory, a swath of sand falling down around him and glinting in the moonlight.

"I just felt a believer." He states, and looks around, and near instantly his eyes fall on the little girl who is laying motionless in the snow, her ginger hair and periwinkle nightgown now soaking wet and her extremities slowly turning scarlet from being in the low temperatures with no protection. "...oh." He eventually sighs, and I nod.

"Oh." I agree, and we end up standing there and staring for far longer then we probably should have before Pitch realizes that we should probably move her, so I let my cold slip a bit so that the air can warm, and he stalks over to tap her on the shoulder, because she's awake and sniffling but she's not moving.

She takes one look at him and starts to scream, and then I see the blood that I previously thought was just hair across her face.

"...I hate my life sometimes." I announce when I've reached him, and if possible her eyes get even wetter and wider, and she simply shuts up from fear.

"Same here."

"So... what are you going to do?" I ask, and Pitch raises one caustic eyebrow my way.

"Me? No, no. You were here first, you at least help."

I feel like jumping away but I'mafraid that will make the little girl start crying again. And she looks almost like Pippa, up close, with her red hair and sweet chocolate brown eyes. I can almost imagine a cream colored stocking cap on her head. Almost imagine that Pippa didn't end up breaking under the weight of her best friends death, and now has to go to therapy to hold herself together, and doesn't even believe in me anymore, and that this is her, albeit a bruised and beaten her, back when she believed.

"Okay." I find myself agreeing before I even know what I'm doing.

xXx

We're winning now. We're winning so much it hurts and makes me feel indescribably happy at the same time. It's two to three now instead of two to four, and the Three Sisters have joined in every now and then, Fold happily flying around on white feathered wings and bombarding the Guardians with images of innocence lost, and Wrinkle grinning like a shark with too many teeth and throwing storm clouds and thunder at them, and Crease just running about, healing us and sending the birds that perch on her antlers to scratch the Guardians faces, clearly showing that she stands with her sisters.

Pitch has believers now, all of whom he watches over in his spare time with a fascination that is borderline creepy. His favorite, a little redheaded girl with scars on her face and a fear of men and the dark, now lives in a foster home and is permanently followed by one of his Shadows, one told to scare her away from anything harmful, and also scare anything harmful away from her.

We're winning so much now that it doesn't take long to win once and for all, and watch as all the other Guardians revert to old forms and lose their magic, and watch as the moon suddenly cracks the tiniest bit across its cratered face, and we're left to our victory, the new Guardians of Childhood that aren't really guardians at all. Except that Crease is already referring to herself as one, and handing out second chances to children like candy, and even if it's not official, the title kind of fits.

xXx

When Fold asks if I regret my choices at all, I shake my head no, because I've never been happier and not a single one of my believers has died in fifty years. And she gives me the strangest sort of grin, not nearly as dangerous looking as Wrinkle with her fangs and shark teeth, but scary nonetheless because I think there's a hint of meaning behind it that I'm still missing.

"That's good." She purrs, because Fold's voice is always a purr, just like Wrinkle's is always a coo and Crease's is always a lilt. "You're the poster boy of innocence lost, after all. Of 'for the Greater Good.' Even Crease accepts you. And Wrinkle thinks you're the best storm she's ever taken a part in creating."

I shrug, and add a few more frost designs to the window I'm working on, within which is Sofia's little baby daughter. "I got what I wanted. Why would I regret anything?" I ask, and she shrugs right back, strong angelic wings moving and blowing air in my face with the shift of her shoulders, and her cherubic face still slightly twisted with her grin.

"The youngest usually do." She tells me, before vanishing, off to probably spend time with her sisters, not a single sign left behind to show that she was ever here, because innocence can sometimes disappear just like that. And I'm left tracing frost on the window of a baby girl's room, a baby girl who will be kept safe by fear, intelligent by innocence lost, and whom will always have a second chance. She'll get to see the beauty of winter, and will be able to listen tothe rain of thunderstorms, and even in the absence of the Guardians, will be able to feel wonder and fun whenever she wants. And I know Pitch agrees. He told me last night, when we were lounging together on his throne. There's never going to be another Jamie, he promised me. Fear will keep us safe, like wonder couldn't, when the object of Jamie's wonder was across a busy road.

I don't have any reason for regrets, when I've simultaneously brought about both the Dark and Light ages. Sure, I feel a bit sad that there's no more dream sand. But good dreams can happen without it. Right? There's no reason for me to feel regret, I'm sure of it. Absolutely sure...

And when I finish the window, I head off to find Pitch. After all, night is coming, and we have children to scare into staying at home and asleep in bed before we ourselves turn in to do the same.

And maybe a little something else as well, if I can manage to get Pitch in the mood.


End file.
